


Of Wolves and Monsters

by ameliasgrove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (it was also my intention to write a cutesy romantic fic about these two at some point but uh yeah), Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person, Please don't ask me how what was supposed to be a brief character study turned into this, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliasgrove/pseuds/ameliasgrove
Summary: "You were ready for the swift punch that’d dim your already clouded worldview - eclipsing your vision and rattling your brain. For the throbbing of pain that’d crepitate through harried nerves and fracture your jaw; the splintering of flesh that’d later bloom into sickly hues of puss-colored yellows and dusky matte greens...The hesitant press of rose-pink lips to your own chapping, cracked ones instead, was thus, completely unexpected."
Relationships: Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Of Wolves and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> _WHAT_ is punctuation and _HOW_ is it used?? ~Please don't expect to find the answer to that question in this fic :) ~

You were a monster, they’d said... spiteful - vicious - cruel. Their taunting relentless, their jeers piercing, they’d laughed at your torment and revelled in your pain, basking afterwards - contentedly - in the absinthal aftermath. 

Somehow though, it was you — in all your admittedly imperfect existence, a dolorous soul cocooned into this tight, restrictive skin — that was the abomination. You, that was the beast, the mangled caricature of all a human being should never be. 

Truth be told, there _was_ something about lashing out - in all your vengeful, savage rage - that was immensely satisfying. It fed into the darkest, most fetid parts of your soul—the parts that thrived on pain, loved how the raw grief and despair tasted on your tongue; the sour, acrid aftertaste it left in your mouth and the acidic residue of it burning down your throat. 

It was the chaos and destruction that attracted you, like an eager moth to an incandescent flame - the utter devastation your concentrated wrath could bring to people’s lives. 

You were drunk with that power, intoxicated with the heady thrill of the way your words could smother the life that shone in the eyes of a once vibrant soul, snuffing out that youthful spirit and wiping away any vestiges of zeal and jubilance they’d once held.

There was a great twisted humor, too, to be found in the fact that it was this part of you—hostile, ugly, unlovable—that was inevitably, eventually going to be your downfall. A fun fact you’d think more on when you were much older and the weight of your actions pressed down upon you with more than just this rueful, bubbling disdain.

Standing here now, eyes hard and irises a-light with the fire of your fury, your breath huffing out in chilled, smokey furls, the night air was as cool as your distant gaze. 

You were a monster, they’d said, because your heart was made of ice - bitter and cold and black. But they didn’t know how monsters were made. The _clack-clang_ of a buckle as it came undone, the sharp _shwwsh_ of a belt as it whistled through the air, the sickening crack of stiff leather as it connected to - and split - pale skin. A repeated assault that lasted what felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a handful of (agonizing) minutes. Or sometimes just a stinging bruise that marred a swollen cheek, puffy and violet—blackened and blue—where the rough, meaty flesh of a large hand had struck, the coppery tang of failure and weakness coating your teeth and slick on your tongue. 

And now, this. As if you needed any further proof of their glaring hypocrisy. Sirius Black stood before (or more accurately, towered over) you, resplendent and proud, more-so than ever in his virulent rage. And he was perfect, of course. It was reflected from the greyed depths of his half-lidded eyes, slanted down the slope of a straight and pointed nose, glistening off of full and pouted lips, carved on the mounds of those high cheekbones, chiseled into a strong chin and in the cut of a pronounced jawline, dipping into the long, elegant expanse of his exposed throat. 

_Snivelly,_ came the sharp, disdainful growl wrenched from his larynx. _Stay AWAY From Moony._

Each word was punctuated in its terse assertion, the ‘Moony’ viciously snarled as Black launched forward, palms slamming on the wall on either side of your face. His Quidditch-refined reflexes were effortlessly quick to cage you in, effectively thwarting your feeble attempt at an escape. Heated breath tickled your skin, still smelling sweet just after supper. 

You’d scoffed, of course. As if you hadn’t made it _unmistakably_ clear to Lupin - on _numerous_ occasions, now - that you didn’t want his worthless apology. It’d been two years since the Whomping Willow incident - _why_ he still insisted on pestering you with such useless extenuations was no more clear to you than why Black couldn’t get it through his thick skull that you wanted no more to do with him nor his marauding twits than they did you. 

“Or perhaps”, you stated slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dimwitted child (though this _was_ Sirius Black you were speaking to, so really what difference was there), “ ‘ _Moony_ ’ and the rest of your pathetic lot should stay away from _me_ , Black.” 

A painted smirk stretched your thin lips as your gaze flicked up to meet his, an unconcealed and reckless mirth dancing in your eyes. 

A flash of revulsion flitted across his face, evident in the slight upward curl of his lips, now fashioned into a telling moue of distaste that annoyingly did nothing to diminish the beauty in those striking, perfectly symmetrical features. A few strands of long and silky ink-colored hair escaped from their carefully tucked place behind Black’s ears as his face inched closer, stopping short of bumping against your protruding schnoz. 

“Snape,” said Black, voice now an affected veneer of calm, trying desperately for patience lest he do something rash (as was in his brutish nature). “The next time I catch your emaciated arse trailing or otherwise bothering Remus, I’ll well and _truly_ end you.” 

The toothy, saccharine-sweet smile sent a wave of nauseating heat pooling in your stomach, and it almost made you sick enough to put an end to this quickly down-spiraling exchange, but instead, you countered:

“Ah, _yes_. Like you almost succeeded in doing our fifth year.” The apparently unwanted reminder caused his contrived, easy-going facade to falter, and the hands on the wall dropped, only to come up a second later, fisting around the dingy lapels of your shirt and slamming you head-first into the hard stone wall behind you. 

A revolting sneer. 

“My, my, Black. Always so quick to anger.” A measured smirk slowly overtook your plain features, then. “Fairly reminiscent of your beloved baby brother, no?”

“ _SHUT UP_!” Spittle flew from a gnashing maw, one large hand now poised and gripping fiercely at your throat, not quite but damn near crushing the delicate windpipe. 

You still managed to burble out a strangled laugh, though. “For all that you and your doltish friends call _me_ a Death Eater, your foul temperament is _much_ more suited for—”

Honestly, you were ready for the swift punch that’d dim your already clouded worldview - eclipsing your vision and rattling your brain. For the throbbing of pain that’d crepitate through harried nerves and fracture your jaw; the splintering of flesh that’d later bloom into sickly hues of puss-colored yellows and dusky matte greens. 

And so, the hesitant press of rose-pink lips to your own chapping, cracked ones instead, was thus, completely unexpected. 

Sirius Black kissed like he did most everything else: with reckless abandon, eager yet somehow not desperate - the same fiery passion he met every other task or challenge with now incomprehensibly focused on you.

And oh, _you should have guessed_. The strange and obnoxiously frequent staring in class, how Black immediately ducked his head or otherwise broke eye contact once you’d grown weary of the uncomfortable prickly feeling of being gawked at and finally flicked your eyes up to meet his heated gaze. 

The way he’d begun to make a pointed effort since sixth year to brush past you whenever he walked by, a coy and insufferably smug smile playing on his lips at your predictable cutting, snappish remark. How though he tried to keep his eyes cold as he bit out his own acerbic retort, there was still this curious softness to them that belied the cruel words. 

And of course the time, about a month or so after the now infamous ‘mudblood’ debacle, that Slughorn—detestable old fool that he was—had partnered you with Black to brew (funnily enough, of all things) an Amortentia. A task, which by itself was onerous enough, but having Black to contend with as well making it a near impossible feat. 

The imbecile was uncharacteristically subdued, which at the time you’d passed off as merely a symptom of what’d happened only weeks prior (though with your own cluelessness even after the aberrant sequence of events that followed next, it seemed that Black wasn’t alone in his idiocy that day). 

_Stir the potion once clockwise, three times counter-clockwise, and once again clockwise. Thinly slice the ginger root and add to the mixture once it begins to bubble._

So engrossed in the task you’d been, that you hadn’t noticed Black’s imposing person creeping more steadily towards you until a soft chuckle lanced through your tenuous concentration and brought you back from the muddled depth of your thoughts.

But when your wary gaze had fallen upon his own silvery stare, he hadn’t looked amused. His eyes had been unreadable but intense, aristocratic features even more stunning this close up. 

_What_ — you’d begun to hiss, but it’d come out rough and hoarse. Your mouth was suddenly dry, tongue weighing like lead and throat clicking painfully as you tried - embarrassingly, unsuccessfully - to regulate your breathing and clear your throat. And then, you’d tried again. 

“ _What_ do you _want_ , Black?” It’d been snapped out, harsh and sneering, as you took a subtle step back in a futile effort to put some distance between the two of you.

A beat. Two. 

“Merlin, you’re an ugly git.” 

His voice had been filled with an almost whimsical wonder, as if he was only just now seeing you for the first time. Yet there’d been no real malice to his words, nor had he even truly looked disgusted, strangely enough - simply perplexed, as you imagine you’d looked to your weary mother that week you’d once spent trying to solve the muggles’ Rubik’s Cube. Just one of many small trinkets Lily had gifted you with that summer.

“Do you _even_ …” But Black abruptly cut himself off. And then—“ _HOW_ is your hair ALWAYS _this_ greasy?”

Another step forward, and under his breath, he’d mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “ _smells like lavender, though_...”, which had been an awfully strange and perplexing thing to say just then. But again, this _was_ Sirius Black you were thinking of and no two descriptors suited him best in that moment.

And then, as if in a trance, one of his hands had reached out, halfway to said oily tresses. But at the last second - finally having caught himself and eyes widening comically - he’d quickly stepped back, visibly mortified and abashed. At his lack of self control or at his sudden dawning realization of your close proximity in full view of anyone who might’ve been watching, you’d never know.

For your part, you’d simply stood there, rooted to the spot, mind desperately scrabbling for words as your mouth ineffectually worked to say _something_ , because honestly, as erratic and capricious as Black could be, this was by far the strangest thing you’d ever seen him do. 

Cruelly, it hadn’t ended there. 

He’d blurted out, not a second later, truly apropos of nothing, “Ever been snogged before, Se— erm... _Snivelly_?” And all the while, awaiting your response, his teeth worried anxiously at his lower lip. 

But only one thing registered in this near catatonic state, and it rang loudly in your ears: _had he just been about to address you by your first name?_

_Would wonders never cease?_

So naturally, your mouth hanging open, you’d gaped at him like a fish. And like a dolt, you’d stared unseeingly, mind still reeling, tongue still thick. 

_What_ was Black playing at?

And when you’d finally regained your composure, you’d seethingly demanded as much. To which he’d simply shrugged, trying for - and completely failing at - nonchalance.

“Before you fell out with Evans,” came his nonsensical response, “the two of you seemed rather… _chummy_ , is all.” His voice had dropped on that last part, words heavily laced with the sort of salacious innuendo no one with eyes could ever seriously associate with you. 

But for the life of you, what you just couldn’t comprehend in all this, was _why_ exactly any of it was Black’s bloody business to begin with. 

You must’ve said that last part aloud, though, because he’d nodded sagely, muttering a solemn “fair enough”, and had dropped his arms forward to rest his elbows on the table, hands loosely clasped and absently watching as Potter - across the room - whispered something to the girl next to him that must’ve been the funniest joke ever told for how hard Lily’s shoulders shook as she threw her scarlet head back and laughed. 

And though he hadn’t said anything else to you for the remainder of class, he _had_ turned back to you a moment later, demeanor almost amiable, with the corners of his mouth pulled up in discernible amusement as a queer revelry leapt and crackled in those wild, wolfish eyes. And just so, he’d watched you work.

Looking back on it now, the stupefied state Black’s bizarre behavior had left you in - and the vexing professor’s booming voice and tiresome presence to the left of you - was most likely the reason why, towards the end of class, you’d thought nothing of (and really almost entirely forgotten) Black’s barely audible musings which sounded an awful lot like ‘dusty parchments... muggy dungeon air...’ Then, taking another discreet and final whiff of the cooling Amortentia, ‘... _lavender_ ’. 

Why your mind was helpfully recalling this eroding, faded memory now probably had something to do with the way Black was gingerly biting at your lower lip, tongue darting out to slowly soothe over the split ridges. 

Or maybe it was the way his right hand tenderly stroked your sallow cheek as his left gently tipped your chin up just so, soft lips moving languidly against your own. 

His tongue was teasing as it tried to coax your mouth open and seemingly of its own accord, your jaw unclenched. Your mouth - determinedly and firmly shut before - parted to grant Black’s tongue the sweet access it so achingly craved, and the foreign thing slid cleanly across chipped and crooked teeth.

An uncomfortable knot that felt as if your intestines had tied themselves together formed low in your abdomen and tightened, unaided by the simultaneous peculiar sensation of phantom pixie wings flapping about, trying desperately to escape their fleshy prison. 

Was this why every girl that’d had the “pleasure” of Black’s more intimate attentions focused on her went squealing to anyone who’d listen about how _special_ and _unique_ she was?

Black let out a low and broken-sounding moan as you unknowingly drew him in closer, mind-body-soul undeniably wrapped up in whatever it is _this_ was, hands that you couldn’t remember leaving your sides fisted in his robes and tugging gently to press him more firmly against you. 

It was this lagged realization of your incomprehensible ( _yet ultimately willing_ ) participation in this...this _degeneracy_ , that had you suddenly breaking from the searing kiss and leaping back from his warm, solid frame as if stung. 

Black opened questioning ashen eyes clouded with unmistakable lust and confusion to regard you. The open display of genuine hurt was jarring but didn’t last. His face shuttered quickly closed and his usual mask of cool indifference and condescending arrogance eclipsed it. 

The cruel smirk that abruptly curled his lips was a precursor to the unexpectedly venomous words he spat next. And they echoed in your mind, as he spoke them, not in his measured, derisive drone, but an infinitely sharper, mocking one. One that set the scarred, mottled flesh underneath your right breastbone on fire and prickled the skin around it. 

“I did it to prove a point and you fell for it, _Snivellus_ ,” claimed Black.

And he’d laughed. Probably intended for it to be a horrible, hideous thing, though it came out sounding more like a garbled, choked-off sob—like water sputtering and gurgled out of drowning lungs. 

“Prongs was right. You really _are_ a sick freak, aren’t you?” 

_NO,_ you wanted to scream back, you _weren’t_ — you didn’t _like_ — _HE_ was the one that’d kissed _you_!

“Takes it up the arse, old Snivelly does,” Black continued on. “No wonder Evans dumped you. Fucking _poof_.”

_What—_

“ _You_ kissed _me_ , Black! So the only perverted _freak_ here is _you_ and I’ll—” 

__

“ _No one’s_ going to believe you, Snape,” came the harsh interjection. “Try it and I’ll tell the whole school that you fancy me.” Black stepped closer until you were again backed against the wall. 

__

Voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear, he breathed, “We may both be abominations… but I’m _nothing_ like you.”

__

The smile on his face - if it could be called that - when he reared back was feral, fangs gleaming in the soft light of the partial moon, lips bitten red and peeled back, frozen in an unbecoming grimace around immaculate white teeth. The tick in his jaw—which was clenched so tight, the spidery veins in his neck popped—only further proof of Black’s precipitated descent into lunacy.

__

His crazed eyes bore into your own, and unflinchingly you stared back, two monsters - wretched and debased - tethered to a world rightly intent on expurgating this shared, inveterate deviancy; this incurable disease...

__

**Author's Note:**

> I'd initially posted this like 2 years ago but ultimately decided to take it down to re-work some things (which I thought would only take me a couple of days or so but that somehow turned into a year and a half, hehe...). It's back up now though so I guess I'm not a _complete_ failure at life :) 
> 
> Anyway...I hope there's still at least one or two people out there who are into this pairing and if so, that y'all enjoy this fic!


End file.
